Why won't the world revolve around me?

I'm at the end of my semester and my rope all at once. I never liked the 10-week term at DU, but the 16+ week at Metro sucks just as much. My freshmen are killing me. Not all of them, of course, but a few who cannot seem to process even the slightest request or keep track of assignments and what they entail. One of them showed up today after a three week absence as if she could possibly catch up; two more had the nerve to come up and ask me about the detailed task we spent the last class doing - right AFTER I said that if you miss a day, you have ask a classmate because I'm done repeating myself. I'm sick of questions in general and I want to scream from the top of my lungs that if you don't get it - whatever it is - then you probably never will and I can't help you.

Mind you, I do have a great deal of patience for genuine students; the ones I'm talking about fall under the hopelessly dim heading. What's worse is that I'm trying to do edgy and cool stuff so as not to be utterly bored, and the class I am about to explain it all to is even dimmer than the one prior, so I'm sure it will be filled with more ridiculous, already-answered questions. Guh.

What really sucks is that I am in an otherwise good mood for once. I planted flowers yesterday for my flowerbeds (in pots of course because I don't trust Colorado to stay unfrozen just yet), and shopped for lilac and hydrangea plants for what will be our new front yard. I've lost 12 pounds in less than two weeks. I'm running again, reading for fun, and undaunted by my dissertation.

If I could only escape the persistence of my freshmen and the endless pile of grading, life would be pretty sweet. But alas. Sigh. And the teacher who lives next door to me in the English department gets on all of my nerves at exactly the same time. He insists on always listening to classical music - loudly - and it's always the same piece; he has a parade of student meetings with his writers and I know that he requires them to come because they all seem beleaguered by his excessive commentary about their writing. All of which I get to hear because (a) his door is always open and (b) he talks really fucking loud. I'm certain also that he is sure that others are impressed by his perpetual chatter. We (or at least I) am not. Mostly because I know that he is just wasting his breath, as cynical as that sounds. He is new to this and while I should admire his enthusiasm, I only scowl at it because it emphasizes my complete lack of it - at least where teaching composition is concerned.

I long for the day when I no longer have to teach such a course. I have never understood why having advanced degrees in literature qualifies me in any way to teach composition anyway. We don't ask mathematicians to teach accounting, after all.